


someplace warm

by lord_is_it_mine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Cheesy, Complete, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 08, Power Outage, Prompt Fic, Sappy, Sharing Body Heat, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt, Wordcount: 5.000-10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:06:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lord_is_it_mine/pseuds/lord_is_it_mine
Summary: Dean and Cas get snowed in at the bunker. Then the boiler stops working. Then the power goes out. Then there's nothing else to keep them apart. Also; Sam loses a bet and Jody was right (as usual).





	someplace warm

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt (that has been sitting in my ask box forEVER) was "Dean/Cas - Freeze". It takes place in the version of events after season 8 where Cas fell, became human, only none of the season nine shit ever happened, because that shit is what made me quit the show (among other things). This is the only timeline I can write Cas an Dean in anymore, so it's what you're getting.
> 
> Sidenote: Sam/Jody get mentioned, but it's never confirmed/explicitly talked about. Jody is only in the last scene at the very end of the fic. I know some people don't like that ship but w/e.

The most difficult part of Cas's transition from angel to human was not the loss of his powers. It wasn't learning the list of things humans must do to maintain their vessels (bodies, bodies is what they are)- eating drinking, sleeping, bathing. It wasn't the even longer list of everything else- laundry, cooking, cleaning, shopping. Truth be told, Cas has found the domestic tasks to be quite enjoyable. No, what was difficult for Cas to adjust to was the _cold_.

When Cas's grace was intact and fully functional, he was impervious to cold. He had the ability to register external temperature, to be sure, but it took no effort at all to maintain the perfect internal temperature at all times. A temperature which had concerned Dean at one point.

Once Cas had explained that no, he wasn't feverish, Dean just winked at him and said, "Some people just run hot, I guess."

Cas _had_ felt a little feverish after that.

All this to say, that since Cas fell, it seems that his whole existence has revolved around two things: Dean, and keeping warm.

* * *

Most of Cas's wardrobe consists of sweaters. Some were pilfered from Dean's closet, and some of them were purchased at the local thrift store, which is undoubtedly Cas's favourite place. Period. He has everything from basic grey hoodies to pullovers with random college logos to the most wonderful group of hand-knit cardigans and turtlenecks, which Dean quickly dubbed the 'ugly old man' collection. Cas paid him no mind, refusing to take fashion advice from someone who only ever wore six variations of the same outfit, and he told Dean so too.

"Ouch, Cas. I'm hurt. Really," Dean had said, clutching his chest in a dramatic display of fake agony. "Sam, can you believe this guy?"

"I'm staying out of it," Sam had answered, not even looking up from his laptop.

It had been months since then- summer had come, and Cas had finally been able to put aside the sweaters and instead opt for t-shirts of various colours and patterns. _This_ , Dean found unnerving.

"I just thought you'd stick to the whole black, white and beige palette you always had going on."

Cas had shrugged. He supposed Dean had a point- the colour of one's clothing did nothing to enhance the functionality of it- perhaps he was experimenting with colours as a way of expressing his newfound free will. Perhaps he was doing whatever he felt like doing, simply because he _could_.

Well. Not _whatever_ he felt like. Free will was all well and good, but it got him no closer to the only thing he'd wanted since before he'd even had free will in the first place.

Dean looks at him sometimes, and Cas can feel the distance between them, the yawning chasm of things unsaid that seems too vast to cross after everything that's happened.

* * *

Summer passes by at a breakneck pace, autumn following suit- Cas blinks and it's January, the coldest and darkest part of the year. Thick socks and sweaters are his constant companions, and eventually, even Dean is forced to concede their practicality.

"You'll never catch me dead in one of those things, though," he qualifies, gesturing to Cas's sweater while zipping up his own hoodie. Sam walks by, duffel over one shoulder, a stack of books clutched under his other arm. He grabs his car keys off the table- Dean makes a mental note to take Baby out for a drive later, make sure the battery doesn't crap out during the cold snap.

"I'm out," Sam says. "Snow's coming tonight, and it's supposed to be heavy- I wanna get to Jody's before the worst of it hits."

"Hopin' to get snowed in, are ya Sammy?" Dean's grin is devilish. "Just you, Jody, and a bunch of books? Bet that's your wet dream, huh?"

"Fuck you, Dean!" Sam flips him off as he heads up the stairs. His boots clanging on the metal steps. There's the sound of the door groaning as it opens- a gust of winter wind falling down into the room, and then the door slamming shut again, sealing Dean and Cas inside.

* * *

Cas wakes up the next morning, shivering under his three layers of blankets. The world around him feels dark and still and _frozen_ \- and Cas has a bad feeling about it.

Dean opens his eyes at the soft knocking on his bedroom door. The clock says it's way too early, and Sam never knocks anyway, the asshole. Then he remembers that Sam left last night. Which means it's Cas. Dean's head spins a little as he sits up, and his half-asleep heart does a little leap when Cas knocks again. He gets out of bed, shuddering when a wave of cool air hits his legs. He shuffles to the door, stretching and yawning as he goes.

He cracks the door open, squinting at the invading slice of light from the hallway that hits him square in the face. There's Cas, a walking blanket burrito, eyes puffy from sleep and hair completely wrecked. Dean feels a surge of the unbearable fondness and immediately stomps it into the ground- that's become second nature at this point.

"What's up, Cas?"

"Cold," Cas whispers, not quite coherent but somehow succinct. "Think the heat's out."

"Shit." Dean goes back into his room and puts a hand on the radiator. It's stone cold.

" _Shit_ ," he says again.

"Yeah." Cas is right behind him, and it startles him, like always- he may have lost his grace, but he hasn't lost his ability to sneak up on people. "Shit is right."

* * *

When Sam said the snow was going to hit hard overnight, he wasn't kidding- they're completely snowed in. Cas can't even get the front door open for all of the snow piled against it. He sighs, one of his longer sighs of late, and bolts the door again. He comes downstairs just as Dean comes back from the boiler room, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.

"Boiler's toast." He throws the rag on the table, shoving his hands under his arms, probably to warm them up. "I thought maybe the problem was that the pipes froze, but we still have running water, it just won't heat. I don't even think it crapped out 'cause of the blizzard- it's just old as balls." He shakes his head. "I should've checked it out sooner, but-" the angels fell- the world almost ended. "I'll have to head into town ASAP and see about replacing it."

"We're snowed in." Cas watches Dean's shoulders sag. "We have plenty of food. We'll be fine for a couple of days until Sam gets back to shovel us out."

Dean thinks about the shot he took at Sam about being snowed in with the person you've been jonesing for. In Sam's case, for a while. In Dean's case, for a lot longer than that.

"Fucking _great_ ," he mumbles, and mopes off toward the kitchen.

* * *

The dumbest thing about this place is that the heat is reliant on water, and everything else is reliant on electricity.

The consolation is that the heat is reliant on water, and everything else is reliant on electricity. Which means that, while it may be colder than Hell in here (Dean would know), at least they’re not also stumbling around in the dark.

Dean briefly considers going back to bed, as it is still before normal business hours, but he knows his brain is probably incapable of settling back down after this rude interruption. He’d probably end up thinking about Cas and jerking off while doing it. And it’s not like he can avoid Cas after, like he usually does after such an incident. Sam isn’t around to act as a buffer, and he can’t make himself busy like he usually would.

So instead, he makes breakfast. A whole smorgasbord, in fact- chocolate chip banana pancakes and maple bacon and cheesy scrambled eggs and hashbrowns with caramelized onions. He briefly considers spiking his fresh-squeezed orange juice with vodka, but then, he’s never really been much of a vodka guy. Also, he’s been doing a lot better with the whole day-drinking thing. _Also_ also, Cas would somehow _know_ if Dean was drinking, and he’d be disappointed, and that’s the last thing Dean wants.

Cas ambles into the kitchen just as Dean is loading his plate with a heap of food. His limbs look swollen, for lack of a better word, layers of clothes building up to sort of a Michelin Man effect. His sweater is a patchwork of mustard yellow and dark red, and on anyone else, it would look completely hideous. On Cas, it’s only a _little_ ugly. Mostly Dean hates it because the collar is so high that he can’t see Cas’s throat, which is objectively the most attractive throat he’s ever seen.

Cas stands there and looks at the food, then at Dean, and raises an eyebrow. Classic Cas.

“Hungry?” Dean asks him. “I made tons.”

Cas looks at the food again and licks his lips, and _fuck_ , this is going to be a longer couple of days than Dean thought.

* * *

According to the radio, there’s no stopping the cold front setting in over what seems to be the entire state of Kansas. They’re supposed to get another foot of snow tonight, followed by high winds and flurries for the foreseeable future after that. Dean tries not to pull all of his hair out, but his stress is mounting.

“Perhaps you should call Sam and inform him of the situation,” Cas suggests.

“I thought of that, but I don’t wanna bother him. He is on an actual hunt, and besides, it’s not like we’re in any real trouble. It’s not like the power’s out.”

Cas glances around, as if he expects Dean’s comment to set off some kind of jinx. Dean himself knocks on wood for good measure. The power stays on.

He does end up sending Sam an email (thank God the internet still works), which he figures is less invasive than a phone call. He lets Sam know that they’re snowed in and that the boiler crapped out, and tells him not to come home, that everything is fine, and they’ll see him in a couple of days.

Twenty minutes later, Sam emails back:

_Ok. Have fun being snowed in with Cas >:)_

Dean doesn’t even bother responding to that.

* * *

The bunker, being completely underground, is remarkably well-insulated. The boiler stopped working sometime around midnight, but the residual heat was preserved for quite some time. It became noticeably cold after a few hours, and it doesn’t start to really become unbearable until sometime around noon. Cas is bundled up from the neck down, but his ears and face have started to go numb, and he feels tired, sluggish, his body slowing down in response to the drastic drop in external temperature.

The only three sources of heat that aren’t connected to the boiler are the convection oven in the kitchen, the woodstove in the library, and the fireplace in the den. They have an ample supply of firewood, but as it _is_ limited, they decide to use it to keep a fire going in the den. It’s smaller than the library, easier to heat- and the TV is in there.

Lunchtime finds Cas curled up on the overstuffed leather sofa, all of his bedding piled on top of him. He feels like a groundhog, burrowed in and bedded down for the winter, ready for hibernation. He’s even wearing his toque, the one Dean got him in honour of his first winter as a human. It’s dark blue with a big white poofy pom-pom on top- Cas thinks it looks kind of goofy, but it is very soft and very warm and Dean got it for him, so Cas loves it anyway. He has matching mittens for it too, but he’s managed to keep his hands warm beneath the covers thus far.

Dean walks into the den at 1:30 and finds Cas like that, watching a Bear Grylls marathon on the Discovery Channel.

“I made sandwiches,” he says, apropos of nothing. Cas notices that he’s wearing his parka, rather than employing the layers of clothing method. “Double-decker roast beef and mustard on that fresh seedy bread we picked up the other day.”

“With pickles?” Cas pokes his head out of his hidey-hole.

“You know it.”

“Sounds good, thank-you,” Cas says, answering Dean’s half-smile with one of his own.

Dean comes back a few minutes later, a tray of sandwiches in one hand, two steaming mugs in the other. Cas catches one whiff of the coffee and nearly kisses Dean right then and there.

He tries not to watch Dean eat (he’s been told that’ it’s quote-unquote _freaky and impolite_ ). But it seems like all he’s been able to do lately is furtively stare at Dean’s hands, is mouth- the muscles in his jaw, his throat- how he sucks his fingers clean, lips when and shining. Dean’s tongue darts out of his mouth to lick mustard from his lips, and Cas wrenches his eyes away, forcing himself to look back at the TV, where Bear Grylls is searing a freshly-gutted fish on some flame-heated rocks while he rambles on about the dangers of consuming food that has been prepared in such unsanitary conditions.

“No _shit_ , Sherlock!” Dean hollers, mouth full, laughing at such common sense being presented as revolutionary knowledge. Cas should be amused as well, but he’s distracted by how much he still wants to kiss Dean.

The wanting to kiss Dean isn’t new. In fact, it’s something that precedes Cas becoming human- he may have fallen less than a year ago, but if you asked him, Cas would say he fell a long time before that.

Sudden quiet pulls Cas from his runaway train of thought. Dean has stopped talking, stopped eating, and is just sitting eerily still, staring at the TV.

Time has passed for Bear Grylls. After his breakfast of questionably prepared trout, he has waited until the warmest part of the day to bathe and wash his clothes in the nearby stream. Even though the sun is beating down, the water does not look warm.

Cas hasn’t seen Dean this still for a long time- his shoulders barely move with each of his shallow breaths, the colour drained from his face. If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say Dean was gone, his empty body left behind. It isn’t hard for Cas to imagine where Dean might have gone.

“Tell me,” he says.

“The first couple of weeks, I didn’t stop long enough,” Dean begins. “I didn't think I'd be there that long, and it was too dangerous to be naked in a place like that, crawling with monsters. Eventually, though, it became a necessity. And after I found Benny, I at least had someone to watch my six. We cleared a path to the river and took shifts- I never let my guard down though, whether I was in the water or not. The river was icy cold, even in the shallows, even at high noon, or whatever Purgatory’s version of high noon is. Benny didn’t seem to mind, but then, he’s undead anyway. But it drove me nuts. It was impossible to relax, even for a second. For a while after I got back, I couldn’t get in the shower without looking over my shoulder, even when I knew Sam was in the next room.”

Cas reaches for the remote and turns the TV off.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” He won’t ever stop being sorry.

“Yeah.” Dean shrugs stiltedly and get to is feet, collecting the dishes. Cas watches him leave the room, shoulders sagging, and sighs.

And then the power goes out.

“Mother _fucker_!” Dean yells from the darkened hallway, and once again, Cas is inclined to agree.

* * *

By that evening, both of them are under Cas’s mountain of blankets, sitting cross legged, knees touching, huddling in front of the fire. Dean has taken off his parka in favour of sharing body heat, but he's wearing most of the shirts that he owns, one on top of the other. They have phone, no internet, no way to contact the outside world. Dean’s starting to wonder if he should have told Sam to come home when he had the chance.

Cas breaks the silence. “Tell me more about purgatory.”

Dean _definitely_ should have called Sam home when he had the chance.

“Why? You were there too. Longer than I was.”

If it were Sam, he’d glare. But Cas looks at him like a puppy who just got kicked.

“It was always cold.” Dean doesn’t look at Cas as he speaks- just stares into the fireplace until his eyes start to burn. “Not freezing, but just chilly enough to always make you tired, slow, but never warm enough to let you rest. Which makes sense, since it’s Hell-adjacent. Like I said, Benny didn’t feel the cold the way I did, the way some of the other monsters must have. You still had your mojo back then, so you were probably the warmest one there.”

He _doesn’t_ say that when he’d found Cas on that riverbank and put his arms around him, it was the first time in a year that he’d felt warm. He hadn’t wanted to let go, for so many reasons.

“The only real way to keep warm was fire, which isn’t an overly portable source of heat. Also, any fire could be a beacon to everything that wanted to kill us.” Not that it ever really scared them. “I think that’s why so many of those monsters were so completely feral. It wasn’t ‘cause they were monsters- it was because they’d all been spending eternity just trying to find someplace warm.”

He was ready to fight, to kill anyone and anyone he had to to find Cas. He thinks of his rage, his desperation in those moments. “I would have lit that whole fucking forest on fire.”

“To keep warm?”

“To _find you_.” Like that wasn’t obvious. “I was angry at you, Cas, for staying behind.” _I did not leave you._ “I was angry for a long time.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You said that already.”

“I mean it.” Cas leans his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I’ve failed you so many times, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. So I understand if you can’t forgive me either.”

“I already have,” Dean admits, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I forgave you the minute I saw you in that motel bathroom mirror, looking like a caveman in a trench coat. I forgave you _way_ before I stopped being angry. That’s how family works.”

 _That’s how love works_ , he almost says, but even after everything, he still can’t bring himself be the that brave.

* * *

Dean must fall asleep at some point. The next thing he knows, he’s opening his eyes to a face-full of soft, dark hair, and a warm, solid body against his chest. In a subconscious search for heat, he and Cas have ended up spooning. Cas is using one of Dean’s arms as a pillow- the other is thrown over Cas’s body, Dean’s palm pressed flat to Cas’s stomach- under all his layers of shirts. His skin is smooth and hot, and as soon as Dean realises he’s touching it, his brain goes into panic mode.

He freezes up completely, afraid to pull his hand away for fear of Cas waking up and realising it was there. He holds deathly still, feeling Cas’s breaths pass through his body. Cas never used to breathe, shoulders always so still, a subtle reminder of his inhumanity. But now he is human, more human than Dean is, fragile and bleeding and breathing. Every second precious.

_Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale-_

“Dean.” Cas voice is even more gravelly than usual, thick and heavy with sleep. Dean says nothing in reply, forcing himself to breathe slowly, deeply, trying to fool Cas into thinking he’s still asleep. He doesn’t even know if Cas is awake, either. He could just be talking in his sleep.

Of course, the thought of Cas dreaming about him does nothing to keep Dean calm. He can feel his heart racing, blood rushing, pounding through his veins. He’s getting hard just thinking about it, and he shifts his hips back and away as much as he can without being obvious. He has to fight not to pull Cas in any closer, not to lay kisses on the back of his neck, not to slide his hand further down Cas’s body, to the waistband of his sweatpants.

Cas shifts, baring more of his neck to Dean- he reaches under his own shirt and covers Dean’s hand with his own, keeps it there, just when Dean was working up the nerve to pull it away. More awake than Dean thought.

It strikes Dean that in this moment, when they’re both standing on the line between sleep and waking, that Cas might let Dean do anything- that he might _want_ Dean to. Here they are, alone in the dark and the cold, just trying to find warmth, only half awake already, the perfect scenario for something that could be written off as a dream and never spoken of again.

And then Cas, like the mind-reader he’s always been, pushes Dean’s hand downward, tentatively guiding Dean to cup him through his sweatpants. He’s hard too, and Dean doesn’t remember _ever_ feeling cold for how hot he feels right now.

“ _Cas_ ,” he whispers, emboldened by the sheer absurdity of the situation, the absolute movie-like quality of the air in here. “You gotta know that if we do this, we can’t go back. There’s no waking up tomorrow and pretending like this never happened. I’ve wanted this way too long to just let it be a onetime thing.”

For one endless heart-stopping moment, Cas is silent. Then he moves, and Dean closes his eyes and curses his mouth because now Cas is leaving, of course he is- but then he feels Cas’s hand on his face. When he opens his eyes, Cas is looking at him in a way he can’t begin to describe.

“Dean,” Cas says, earnest in a way only Cas can be. “I don’t think I knew _how_ to want until I wanted you.”

That’s all Dean needed to hear- it’s all he’s wanted to hear for a long time. He surges forward, capturing Cas’s mouth in a kiss that ought to be technically flawless for the number of times he’s rehearsed it in his head. This kiss is real, though, messy, unrehearsed and infinitely more thrilling than Dean could have predicted. In other words, it’s perfect.

Cas slides is hand to the back of Dean’s neck, fingers carding through his hair, sending a shiver down Dean’s spine that only serves to bring his body closer to Cas’s. He hums against Cas’s mouth, hooking one leg over the back of Cas’s knee, pulling their bodies flush. Cas moans at the friction, and Dean uses the opportunity to push his tongue into Cas’s mouth. Cas take it all in stride, tilts his head for a better angle, mimicking Dean’s movements, his hands now tight fists in the back of Dean’s hoodie.

It's not long before Dean has to pull away, panting to catch his breath. Cas’s hands relax, slide to Dean’s sides, fitting to the shape of his ribcage.

“Cas,” Dean huffs, feeling Cas’s breaths echo back over his own face as they share the same cycle of air. “Can I-”

“Yes,” Cas says and kisses him again, even though there’s no way he could know what Dean is asking permission for.

Dean pushes Cas onto his back, guiding his legs apart and kneeling between them. He kisses Cas some more, savouring every new think Cas does, every specific behaviour that no one else gets to know about. For one, Cas is very handsy when he wants to be, not at all the shrinking violet Dean once thought him to be. He's a fast learner, too, already getting the hang of how kissing really works. He kisses Dean like he's been doing it for years, and Dean’s heart skips a beat when he thinks that maybe Cas has been doing this for years, if only in his imagination- just like Dean himself has.

For a moment, Dean finds himself torn- he wants to get at more of Cas’s skin, but he’s not sure he can tear himself away from Cas's mouth long enough to do anything else but kiss him. But then Cas’s hands, wandering and curious, grab Dean’s ass and pull him into a slow grind, and Dean is reminded of what he wanted to do in the first place. He rolls his hips again, breaking the kiss with a moan and moving his mouth to Cas’s jaw, lips scraping against stubble as he works his way down Cas’s neck until he can't go any lower.

“Now do you see why I hate this sweater so much?”

Cas pauses, thoughtful, and then- “I stand by it.”

Dean laughs into the hollow of Cas’s throat and then sucks hard enough to leave a mark there. The sound that Cas makes is worth Dean having to look at ugly sweaters for the rest of his life.

“When this is over, and the boiler is fixed,” he says, moving down Cas’s body, “I'm gonna get you out of that sweater, have you naked and all to myself.” He lifts the hem of said sweater and leaves a hickey over Cas’s hip. Cas Swears, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders.

Dean hooks one finger into the waistband of Cas’s sweatpants, watching Cas as he does it- Cas’s eyes are trained on him in turn, and the whole world grinds to a halt. Dean sees this for what it is- the point of no return.

“Dean,” Cas whispers, “What's wrong?”

Dean blinks. “Nothing, it's just. Been a long time.”

He's not even sure what he means by that. It's been a long time since Dean has had sex- with a man, with anyone, really- but he’s not thinking of that at all right now. Maybe he means this, this moment right now, has been a long time coming.

“Yes,” Cas replies, because of course he understands Dean when Dean doesn't understand himself. “It has.”

Cas’s breath sharpens when Dean tugs his sweatpants down, exposing heated skin to cold air. Cas’s dick is hard, pink and curved and long, and Dean can’t help but lick his lips just a little.

“If it’s too much, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

Cas opens his mouth to reply, but any words he might have wanted to say are lost in the moan that rises from his chest when Dean puts his mouth on him. Slow, soft touches at first, thumb pressed to the crease of Cas’s hip while his lips learn the shape of Cas’s dick. It’s not like this is something Dean’s ever hated doing- quite the opposite actually- but this is a whole new level of enjoyment for him. It’s something about knowing that he’s the only person who’s ever touched Cas this way, coupled with the fact that they’re finally _here_ , finally _together_ , after dancing around each other for so long.

Cas, true to form, is taking to this like a fish to water- he has one hand on the back of Dean’s head, not forceful but firm, as if to remind Dean that he could take charge anytime he wanted to. Dean doesn’t know if Cas is doing it on purpose, but he’s so unbelievably into it- his own dick, untouched until now, is aching at the thought of Cas being intentionally dominant.

He takes Cas deeper into his mouth, circling the head of his dick with his tongue every time he pulls back. With his free hand he reaches down, teasing himself through his pants, the tension just this side of unbearable. He’s surprised he’s lasted this long, what with the sounds Cas is making. Gasps, whimpers, murmurs of things that sound like an actual language, that probably are part of an actual language, knowing Cas. Dean can only guess what Cas is saying, but it’s incredibly hot, translation or no.

Cas seems to be building up to something, or he’s holding himself back. One second his hips are still, and they jump, just once, catching Dean off-guard. He pulls off, looking up at Cas to see the frightened look in his eyes.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, snatching his hand away from Dean’s head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine. You just surprised me, that’s all.” He reaches for Cas’s hand and puts it back where it was. “You don’t have to hold back. I can take it.”

Cas’s eyes go wide and then narrow, pupils blown and eyelids heavy as he guides Dean back down until the tip of his dick hits the back of Dean’s throat. Dean groans, something in him satisfied, and Cas feels it everywhere. He pulls back a little and gives and experimental thrust of his hips- true to his word, Dean doesn’t flinch, doesn’t gag, just keeps moving his tongue along the underside of Cas’s dick as Cas continues to fuck up into his mouth.

Cas watches Dean’s eyes slide closed, his enjoyment of this obvious, and marvels at Dean’s beauty, even now- the darkness of his eyelashes against the paleness of his cheek, the winter months having done their best to take the colour from his skin, having failed at stealing the constellations of freckles across his face. Dean must be touching himself, one of his hands having disappeared. Cas can feel his own release building his whole body thrumming with pent-up energy. It feels as if he might go to pieces.

When Cas _does_ come, it's a punch to the gut- it's flying, it's falling, all things sudden and overpowering. There's a moment when everything stops; the blood rush becomes endless white noise- he forgets to breathe, lungs all at once too full and too empty. The thundering heart in his chest comes screeching to a halt, ceasing to beat, leaving Cas suspended outside of himself somehow. He supposes that this is why they call it the little death. It doesn't feel so little, in the moment. It feels indescribably all-consuming. He's fairly certain he says Dean's name, as certain as he can be with the absolute emptying of his mind, the release of far more things than he was counting on.

When Cas comes, Dean is ready for it. He pulls off of Cas's dick so he can have a clear view of Cas's face, the way his neck looks with his head thrown back. He keeps one hand on Cas dick through all of it, Cas's come hitting his shirt, his face, Cas's stomach. Cas calls out Dean's name once, loud, shattered, like he's gone deaf and can't hear himself, or like he wants the whole world to hear it.

Finally, when Cas stops shaking, when his breathing resumes a normal pace, he tugs on Dean's arm, pulls him up and kisses him, sighing into his mouth. He wastes no time taking hold of Dean's hips, encouraging Dean to rut against him, their noses bumping, kisses uncoordinated with Dean's movements.

"Look at you," Cas whispers, thumb tracing the shape of Dean's wet, reddened lips. "I wish that you could see yourself, Dean. So beautiful."

Dean wants to be embarrassed by that, and _would_ have been, in any other context- but he isn't now, not even close. He's too strung out, to high on Cas tight now to do anything but rut harder, desperate, so desperate to some and so close.

Cas knows this somehow, obviously- he shoves his hands down the back of Dean's sweatpants, cold hands making Dean shiver as he takes hold of Dean's ass, helping Dean to keep a rhythm going.

"The next time we do this," he says, "I want to fuck you. Would that be alright?"

Dean groans, dropping his forehead to Cas's chest. " _Fuck_ , Cas, yes."

"Good." Cas's grip gets tighter, steadier as he comes down from his own high. His voice is measured, sure. He's not shy of this anymore, in a total control while Dean is falling apart. If this is even a _little_ like what getting fucked by Cas is going to be like, Dean might never walk right again.

" _Cas_ ," he says, "I'm-"

"Just let go Dean, I've got you."

Dean tips headlong over the edge, the wind knocked right out of him. His vision whites out as he comes hard and fast, without even being touched. Cas's name is a mantra on his lips, repeated with every shallow breath he tries to catch, every beat of the heart that's running away from him.

He collapses under the weight of his own spent body, rolling off to the side just in time to avoid crushing Cas. Now that it's over, he can't keep his hands to himself, running his hands up Cas's sides and down his arms, holding onto his biceps to keep himself from floating off into space.

Cas keeps constant contact too, hand on the side of Dean's face, fingers spreading across Dean's Cheek, thumb on the lines at the corner of Dean's eye.

"I love you, Dean Winchester."

Dean feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Cas wipes them away.

"Jesus, Cas." He buries his face in Cas's shoulder, wishing he was brave enough to look Cas in the eye- he can take on a horde of demons, a host of avenging angels, but _this_ -

"I love you too," he whispers. There will be time to get his courage up later. He has _time_ for things like that now, in this happy and domestic life he's accidentally made with Cas. From now on, he can do it on purpose.

For perhaps the first time in his adult life, all that future ahead of him doesn't loom- it spreads, wide and rolling in front of him like an empty highway in the summer sun. Like always, Dean wants to start the car, put the pedal to the floor and never look back. But he's not running away anymore. When he closes his eyes, Cas is there with him in the front seat, ugly sweater and all.

"Are you still cold?" he asks. Cas kisses the top of his head.

"No. Not anymore."

* * *

Cas is rudely and abruptly awoken the next morning by bright lights and loud voices. Or rather, one loud voice in particular.

“Oh, man. I don't believe it. Jody! You better come see this.”

The flashlight beam moves out of Cas’s face, but the damage is already done. Cas blinks, still squinting at the concentrated light cutting through the otherwise total darkness. He lifts his free hand to shield his face- his other arm is underneath Dean, who, despite usually being a light sleeper, still has yet to stir.

“Sam?” Cas asks, bewildered. “We weren't expecting you until tomorrow.”

“We solved it faster than we thought we would,” Sam explains. “And when we saw on the news about the massive power outage over central Kansas, we figured you might need a hand. Or four. Jody came to help shovel you out.”

“Power’s back on,” Jody announces, entering the room and flipping the light switch. This gets Dean’s attention. He grumbles about it being too bright, and as soon as he realises what that means, he's wide awake. He bolts upright, freeing Cas’s arm, which feels flattened and numb.

“What- Sam? _Jody_? Wait-” Dean turns red, putting his face in his hands to hide it.

 “Pay up, Winchester.” Jody saunters over, hands on her hips, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “What’d I tell you?”

“In my defense,” Sam argues, pulling out his wallet, “I've known them longer than you have. I've been watching Dean pine for _years_ \- we’re talking _multiple_ apocalypse-level catastrophes. How was I supposed to know that something as basic a power-outage would be the thing that finally gave him the guts to make the first move?” He looks down at Dean and Cas, suddenly, like he'd forgotten they were there. “I'm happy for you guys, though, just, by the way.”

“Call it a woman’s intuition,” Jody remarks, waving the twenty dollar bill Sam just handed her. “Unless-” she looks at Cas, apprehensive- “this _isn't_ what it looks like?”

“It's what it looks like,” Dean mumbles from behind his hands. Then he looks up, face red in anger this time. “Hold on? A freakin’ bet? _Really_?”

“Dean didn't make the first move,” Cas corrects Sam. “It was me.”

Sam and Jody stand there for a moment, and then Sam grins and snatches the money back from Jody’s hand. “I told you. Dean would _never_ make the first move.”

“That wasn't the bet,” Jody counters, snatching it back. “The bet was whether or not we would get back here and find them like this, not about who _started_ it-”

“No, the way I remember it, there was definitely a clause in the bet that hinged on who was the initiator of said incident,” Sam counters, every inch the lawyer he once wanted to be.

They continue on like this for a while, but Cas is ignoring them in favour of trying to fix Dean’s bed head whilst also attempting to kiss every freckle on his face, individually, one at a time. Both are entirely futile and worthwhile pursuits.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Dean asks him. “Pack some stuff, just take off, go some place with reliable electricity, less snow. Just until the boiler’s fixed. Or until spring. California, maybe. Someplace warm.”

Cas kisses Dean on the mouth, feels Dean’s hands on his face, and sighs.

“Yes,” he whispers, below the comical din of Sam and Jody, still bickering. “Someplace _warm_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, comments are better, both is the sweet spot :)


End file.
